In Aster Stars: A Tale of Mystery and Magic
by Meladara
Summary: Emotionally lost in the post-war world, Hermione finds that she must puzzle out a confusing world of dreams, nightmares, and strange events. A tale of mystery and magic.
1. Chapter 1

**In Aster Stars: A Tale of Mystery and Magic**  
_by Meladara_

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, and WB._

_I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

* * *

Hermione sat at the table, a cup of tea before her. Her elbows rested lightly on the table, while she slowly brought the steaming cup to her lips and sipped, her eyes staring fixedly out into the Muggle neighbourhood. She was alone in the quiet house and had been so for two weeks now.

Peering through the sheer curtains, she could see the shapes of her neighbours going about their morning business, silhouettes of the lives that surrounded but never touched her. As they undertook the daily tasks of life that she simply could no longer grasp, she watched. She recognised Mrs. Siegfried, waddling out to the curb with the rubbish bin; then Mr. Hayes also exited his house, carting his rubbish behind him. For a moment Hermione was amused, watching her two oldest neighbours greet one another. They had, for countless years, been meeting in such a manner, and it soothed her to see that there were still constants in the world. Then she remembered and the amusement faded abruptly. Sighing, she watched her neighbours turn and retreat into their houses, oblivious to the presence of the mourning war heroine.

War heroine. That was what they called her in the _Daily Prophet_, not that she read that tripe. Since the end of the war nearly six weeks ago, she, Harry and Ron had been thrust completely into the spotlight. It was only due to her ability to fall back on her Muggle heritage that she had any privacy available to her right now.

Setting down the cup, her hands moved to her head and rubbed against her eyes. She was tired and drained from weeks of crying. The pressure of her warm palms against the tender red flesh was soothing, and for a moment she took in deep breaths, allowing the stress and grief of loss flow out of her with each exhale.

Part of her felt completely foolish that she had fallen into such a state. For truly, when the end of the war had come, no one particularly close to her had been lost. When the dust of the battle had cleared, she'd found herself and her best friends alive and safe, much to her relief. Sure, there had been many lives lost and she had mourned with the rest of their world, but no one had had a close enough relationship with her to account for the acute depression she now found herself facing. It was almost as if something inside her had broken somewhere along the way, and now that she was no longer fighting a war, she couldn't figure out how to put herself back together again.

It was this house. She could find no strength here, in this lonely silence. It was filled with ghosts and memories of her past and the lives of the people who meant the most to her. Deep down she knew that until she found them and restored their lost memories, she would be stuck, floundering in a sea of depression and grief.

Once again memories of the past flooded her. A distant echo of her mother's voice, calling her inside to lunch played through her mind, the memory of her father sitting across the table doing the Sunday crossword puzzle flashing before her eyes. A deep shuddering breath escaped her; she felt her palms and cheeks start to dampen and by the time the tears were streaming down her cheeks, she had descended back into crushing grief.

She was so alone, and if she didn't do something about it soon, she was afraid that she would never be able to make it back to the person she'd once been.

Her hands moved to dash away the tears with harsh swipes as she struggled to hold back the sobs which were threatening to escape her. Breathing in a slow, steadying breath, she closed her eyes to the world around her.

* * *

Another memory flooded her.

_"Hermione, are you sure this is what you want?" Harry asked her, for what seemed like the twentieth time._

_She sighed and looked up from the book she'd been pretending to read. They were the only ones sitting the Gryffindor common room so late in the evening._

_"Yes, Harry," she said with slight irritation. "As I told you last time, I just need to get away for a while. I simply can't think here; there are too many people and too many memories haunting me. I need to take a step back from the war and allow myself some time to heal. Everywhere I go here I see-," her voice cracked before she fell silent, she couldn't or wouldn't voice what terrors haunted her here._

_Silence stretched between them for a moment before she heard Harry speak. "Are you sure you'll be okay alone? I could come with you, or you could come to the Burrow, or even Grimmauld Place, if you'd like?" he offered earnestly._

_"Thank you for the offer, but I think that it will be best for me to go at it alone for a while. Besides, Ginny isn't going to let you out of her sight for quite some time; she needs you too, Harry. And I don't think I could face Ron right now, so the Burrow is just out. He expects something from me that I cannot give him, and after that display last night, he is the last person I want to see," Hermione told him._

_"I'll talk to Ron for you, if you want. He was out of line last night and shouldn't have done that, especially in front of everyone else," he offered._

_"That he was. Do you realize that Ron and I haven't even gone on a single date? He's never even done something as simple as asking me to walk around the lake with him, or... I don't know... go to Hogsmeade! He was way over the top doing that. You can talk to him, if you think it will help. Although I'm not sure it will do much good."_

_"You're probably right there," Harry agreed._

_"I really think he's lost in grief over the loss of Fred and latched on to the idea of an "us". He's thinking himself in love, when he is not. I can't do it this time, Harry. I can't be his or your strength any more. I need what strength I have left for myself."_

_She knew he wasn't happy with her plan to leave the post-war sanctuary of Hogwarts, but there was really no other place that she particularly wanted to go, and staying certainly wasn't an option. The Battle of Hogwarts, and the violence she had witnessed there, were still too close to the surface. She knew it wouldn't fade until she left Hogwarts altogether. Faced with the fact that there were simply too many people at the Burrow, Ron included, and the Order Headquarters had too much residual dark magic to make it a desirable home, she found herself left with only option: her parents' house._

_"Harry, please. I have healing I need to do, and I need to make arrangements to retrieve my parents. Not to mention the war has only been over for three weeks and the media is already driving me nuts. They've turned us into a bloody circus act and I don't know how much more I can take. That drivel they have written about Ron and me is just plain wrong. I know we kissed, but that was in the middle of a battle, and I am smart enough to know that now is not the time to get involved with someone. Especially Ronald!" The words flew from her mouth quickly and full of irritation. When she finally fell silent she was slightly breathless._

_Hermione took a calming breath and waited a moment before continuing. "Please, I've just got to go for a while. I'm not running away, and I promise you I will come back." A desperation that she rarely displayed crackled through her voice._

_Harry had, over the years, learned enough of Hermione's body language to understand that she was reaching her breaking point. He'd watched her over the past week as she struggled daily. He saw how she hesitated to walk the halls and would purposely take circuitous routes through the castle, avoiding the locations which had seen the more gruesome parts of the battle. At meal times it became apparent that she was eating only sparsely, and the circles under her eyes, which were growing more pronounced with each passing day, suggested that her sleep was kept to a minimum._

_Then had come the disastrous display the previous evening, where Ron had expressed his undying love in the middle of the Great Hall. Harry was sure that those who had heard her shrieks were in no doubt of Hermione's feelings toward Ron. Everyone but Ron that is, he simply wouldn't take Hermione's words at face value, believing that she would come around eventually. Though Harry had been rather amused at how thoroughly she had laid into their clueless friend, it was clear that she needed a break._

_Knowing that Hermione would share her struggles with him when she felt ready, he reached out and placed his hand over hers. Giving it a comforting squeeze, he nodded his acquiescence. "If you ever need me, any time, I'm just a Patronus away. You are my best friend and I love you like the sister I never had, don't ever forget that. Please, just... call me if you need me. Promise me?"_

_She gave him a weak smile, as tears filled her eyes. Nodding to him, she spoke, "Thank you, Harry. I promise that if I need you, I'll call."_

_"Alright then. You promised, don't forget that."_

* * *

That had been the last time she'd seen or spoken to anyone. She had watched as Harry left the common room that night, and by the time he had awoken in the morning, she had fled.

Her plan had worked, partially. Settling into her parents' home had allowed her to escape the horrors that were brought on by the halls of Hogwarts; the violent memories faded into the background almost immediately. Everything was still bubbling just under the surface, ready to erupt at any reminder, but living in her parents' home allowed her to, mostly, escape the daily reminders of the horrors she'd seen. Save one.

It had been an unexpected development for Hermione when she realised that it was _his_ eyes that she was seeing each night. Just days after the battle she'd had the nightmare the for the first time, although she had been so mentally drained that it hadn't been immediately apparent just who was featured in this new horror. Then, one night later, as she was slowly robbed of sleep and sanity, it became clear exactly whose eyes were staring and pleading with her, whose blood was draining from a gaping wound. It was this knowledge that had finally broken her.

They frightened her, these vivid recollections of the horror she had witnessed that night in the Shrieking Shack. It had been a ghastly scene, and if she had taken a moment to examine her motives more closely, she would have known that the nightmares had truly been the catalyst in her decision to flee the school. A wild, desperate hope that, should she be able to escape Hogwarts, the nightmarish dreams would leave her as well.

She couldn't understand why she was dreaming about him of all people. Why him? He was no one to her, truly, and although she had witnessed his final breath and gone so far as to wish him peace in his final moments, she didn't feel anything special for him. He was simply another pawn in a war of nasty people, another victim with a tragic story. There was no denying, though, after five weeks of the repeating nightmares, that it was his eyes that haunted her each night. His pleading eyes of midnight. She only dreamed of him and never the other deaths she'd witnessed. How could the death of her surly professor fill her with such grief?

Each night, as she retired, there would be a moment where she would allow herself a sliver of hope. Hope that tonight would be good one, free of the horrors of war. That she would be spared watching him bleed out at her feet. Alas, most nights she was not so lucky and would awaken drenched in sweat and tears, the scent of his phantom blood lingering about her.

Hermione looked down at the cup before her and noted the cold tea. She sighed. Yet again, another morning had passed her by and not a single thing had been accomplished; yet again, she had retreated into her thoughts and despair, causing her to waste yet another perfectly good cup of tea. Her life felt like a dangerous balancing act that was liable to teeter too far at any moment. She'd repressed the memories of the others, only to be haunted by Snape and her parents. Her grief was palpable; she felt immobilized and lost, her brain dull, her heart and will broken. Absently, she picked up and swirled the cool tea, watching the few tea leaves at the bottom of the cup whirl around.

Again the phantom image of her stalwart father flickered before her, her tired mind once again reminding her of what she'd lost. She remembered all the times they had sat at this table together. He would work quietly at his puzzles and read the paper, while Hermione read her lofty texts. It was one of her favourite things to do when home, sharing the peaceful communion between the equally studious father and daughter. Her mother would bustle around the house, sometimes admonishing the bookish pair to trek outdoors for some fresh air, sometimes simply smiling fondly at their camaraderie and providing them fortification in the form of afternoon tea.

Her eyes drifted, unseeing around the room, until fixing on the window once again. Dazed and lost to recollection, her hands began to loosen their hold on the tea cup. As the cup began to tilt, the final dregs of tea began to spill onto the table. The tan liquid was tinted gold by the light of the late afternoon sun, now shining through the window. Suddenly, the cup clattered down to the surface before her, jarring her from her thoughts.

Hermione jumped and quickly righted the cup, then sopped up the spilled tea, shaking her head at her head-in-the-clouds behaviour.

She really missed her parents and was afraid that she was running out of time to fetch them. It was already nearing the middle of June. If she wanted to have them settled back in England before she returned for her final year of schooling at Hogwarts, she would need to get moving soon. There was no doubt in her mind that it would be a difficult task, because when they realized what she had done, they would be less than co-operative. She would need to be able to take as much time as possible explaining and coaxing them back into her life and country.

It had been her only choice at the time, in the midst of war; Hermione knew that her parents were Death Eater targets, and as Muggles, terribly vulnerable. They never would have agreed to let her perform any magic on them, she knew, but with time being of the essence, she'd taken matters into her own hands.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger, although loving and attentive parents, had never embraced their daughter's magical nature. It seemed there was something, fundamentally, that they were incapable of understanding when it came to her magic. It was like trying to explain to a blind person what colours were made of; it was something their brain simply couldn't compute.

In her early years at Hogwarts, Hermione had enthusiastically shared stories of her magical education with her parents, only to find that they responded with frowns and quick changes of subject. As Hermione grew older, she often thought her parents treated her magic as if it were a boyfriend of whom they disapproved: showing it a distant, slightly wary, respect while clearly not understanding how it held her so enthralled. They never questioned her about the incongruous family secret; it was spoken of only in the abstract and never directly referred to. Still, never did they question her decision to immerse herself within the magical world, understanding that even if they couldn't comprehend her magical gifts, it was important to her future in the magical society.

It was because of this that Hermione never doubted her parents' love for her, no matter how much they misunderstood, and perhaps even feared, her magic. Until she had been forced by circumstances to use her magic against them, she believed wholeheartedly that her parents would never exile her completely from their lives, as so many other Muggleborns' parents did. They were after all, good people, in an extraordinary situation. But now, knowing what she'd done to them, she feared they wouldn't take kindly to her presence in their lives and that regaining their trust would be nearly impossible.

Hermione pushed her chair back from the table and stood. Taking up the tea cup and now wet tea towel, she walked into the kitchen, where she quickly washed the cup by hand and placed it on the rack to dry. Then, looking around, she realized her wand was no where to be found. She must have left it on her bedside table. Silently summoning her wand from her bedroom, she snatched it out of the air as it floated through the door. Turning to peer out the window at the back garden, she watched the setting sun colour the sky.

It was becoming clear to her that if she stayed here she would never be able to pull herself from this depression and certainly never get herself to Australia. Now that her theory that the nightmares would lessen if she left Hogwarts had been proven faulty, she knew it was time to move on. Whatever healing was going to be found here was small and ineffectual, especially without her parents support. The horrors of battle were still just below the surface of her mind, ready to show themselves at any moment, and the dreams were growing stronger and more disturbing. She knew that she could no longer do this alone.

For a moment she twirled her wand through her fingers in an idle movement. Then, as it landed deftly in her palm, she weighed it in her hands gently.  
One of the first things she and Harry had done after the war had been to contact Mr Ollivander in order to obtain her a new wand. Bellatrix's wand made her feel physically nauseous, a sentiment Harry completely understood from his time using a borrowed wand. Hermione had been surprised that her new wand was so different from her original. The springy willow wand was light in her hand, ready to fly into action. The core had been a surprise as she'd never heard of a wand with a core of dragon scales. She had immediately begun pondering what magic must have been involved to get a dragon sized scale into the core of a wand. Some things about this world still amazed her - and who was she to argue? After all it was magic.

Hermione took a breath and closed her eyes, focussing on the moment when she'd found her new wand; the feeling of completeness that had momentarily surrounded her in a rush of magical energy. Then, when she felt ready, she chanted her spell and swished her wand.

_Expecto Patronum!_

A small burst of light flickered out of her wand before sputtering out.

Hermione frowned and shook her head. She should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Searching her mind for a stronger memory, she once again chanted the spell.

Again the same light burst forth, only to fade before it could form into the familiar otter that was her Corporeal Patronus.

"Damn it!" Hermione growled, throwing her wand on to the counter.

Tears flooded her eyes. Feeling defeated, she slowly walked out of the kitchen. Climbing the stairs to her bedroom, she decided to try again in the morning. In the meantime though, she would try and get some much needed sleep.

* * *

Hermione's heart raced as she tossed on her bed. The bed covers long since discarded, she was twisted in a tangle of damp sheets.

"No... no..." she groaned.

The sound of a door closing echoed through the house as Hermione shot up in her bed.

Frantically, a hand went to her damp face, wiping the tears and sweat from her eyes.

"Do you think she is here?" she heard a deep voice say quietly as she froze her movements.

"It looks that way. See, here is a wand. Although, it looks different from her old one," a female voice replied.

_Shite!_

She'd left her wand downstairs.

_Stupid Hermione! Stupid! Stupid!_

Hermione crept quietly out of bed and padded lightly to the door. Opening it gently, she listened.

"She's probably asleep upstairs, dear. I told you we should have waited until a little later in the morning."

There was no reply, except for the sound of feet on the stairs.

Still caught in the strange world between wakefulness and sleep, Hermione straightened and went into fighter mindset. She didn't know who those people were; no one other than Harry, Ron and Professor McGonagall knew this place, therefore they had to be a threat. Backing away from the door, she ducked into a dark corner, awaiting her intruders. Her eyes were wild, resembling a cornered feral cat waiting to spring on it captors.

The footsteps fell silent just outside her door. Wild panic flashed through Hermione. How had these people known exactly which room belonged to her?

Before she could wonder further the door began to swing, slowly, open. Just before she sprang from her hidden corner to attack, a voice rang out.

"Hermione? Are you in here?" the woman called.

Hermione froze. Though she could not see who was standing at the door, there was no doubt that she knew the voice. How had she not recognised it before?

"Hermione?" The woman called again.

Tears began to prick at her eyes and sobs began to wrack her body. Suddenly, Hermione crumbled to the floor as a muffled, "Mum," fell from her lips. Before she could utter another word she found herself wrapped by four arms and pulled into a family hug.

Hermione continued to sob into the shoulder before her. She wasn't sure which parent she was clinging to, but that didn't matter, they were here. Listening to the comforting words of nonsense her parents used to soothe her, Hermione suddenly she felt that perhaps everything would be okay. Her Mum and Dad were home, and in that fact alone she could find hope.

* * *

_This fic was first posted in the 2012 SSHG Exchange on Livejournal. It was a gift for lovely HBAR and would not be here today if it hadn't been for the support I received from Sixpence Jones. The banner is by talesofsnape. The original prompt will be posted at the end of the final chapter. I hope you enjoy!_


	2. Chapter 2

**In Aster Stars: A Tale of Mystery and Magic**  
_by Meladara_

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, and WB._

_I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

* * *

Sitting at the table with a cup of tea before her, she did not gaze catatonically out the window at the neighbourhood today. No. Today, Hermione could see and feel. Today, she could find strength in this house.

It seemed to Hermione, who was surviving at this point on pure emotion, that the depression she'd experienced only twenty-four hours before had been a lifetime ago. She sipped her tea as her parents went about preparing a morning meal, watching with an outward expression of serenity. Her eyes followed them closely, logging each moment, step, breath, and look.

During the war she had stood helpless as so many of her friends lost their loved ones, and though she was beyond happy to have her parents home, she was wary of their surprise return.

Hermione had cautiously confirmed the identities of her parents just moments after their reunion. The war had irrevocably changed her, and she understood it would be foolish to abandon all she had learned simply because the war appeared to be over. So, when she realised the potential for danger in their mysterious return, she had quickly questioned her parents to establish that they truly were who they were claiming to be.

These two people were definitely her parents. It helped to soothe her suspicion that they looked just the same. Though, if she were being honest with herself, they really looked better than before she sent them away. Their eyes were vibrant and full of energy. Their all-around aura seemed healthy and happy. Hermione guessed that their lifestyle in Australia had suited them well. But still, a nagging deep inside her told that there was much here she did not yet understand. Something in them had fundamentally changed; she simply had yet to identify what it was.

They moved about the kitchen while Hermione watched, her mind full of hazy wonder. It was unexplainable. They shouldn't have their memories back. Had her spell work been faulty?

No, she thought vehemently, her head shaking.

Feeling the anxiety attached to that line of thought, she pushed back the question. Now was not the time for that. Now was the time to bask in the glow of being with her family and enjoying the comfort that they brought her. Holding up the still steaming cup up to her face, she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She allowed herself to enjoy the scent for a moment before exhaling. Taking a sip of tea, she let the rich flavour roll over her tongue, and the familiar hints of the anise, clove, vanilla, and cinnamon in her mother's special blend of chai tea relaxed and reassured her. As her shoulders relaxed, the emotional turmoil that resided deep within her finally began to uncoil.

Whatever it was that had changed in them, they were not currently a danger to her. Thankful for the blessings in her life, even if she didn't understand them, she left The questions for later.

Hermione chuckled lightly into her cup as a feeling of giddiness settle over her, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. It was such a different type of feeling, one that she'd not known for months, maybe even years. It was a relief to allow herself a bit of happiness. Hermione's heart swelled as she assured herself, once again, that her parents really were home.

Jean Granger looked up from the eggs and sausages she was cooking and smiled at her beaming daughter. Hermione had changed so much since she had last laid eyes on her. Nearly ten months had passed since Hermione had sent them away, and during that time her baby had grown into a woman. However, there was something about the manic joy and confusion their daughter was displaying that unnerved her. In the past, Hermione had always been what Jean considered a bit emotionally repressed. Their daughter had always found it difficult to connect with others, and even at home, it was rare for her to display emotion. Now, however, she practically beamed them, so clearly written were they across her face. For what certainly would not be the last time, Jean wondered what horrors her daughter had been forced to face during their time away.

Breakfast passed quietly as they enjoyed each other's company. When the meal was finished, Hermione rose and mutely cleared the table as she'd done in her days as a child. Then, after the food was cleared away and the dishes cleaned, the family moved to the sitting room. Jean and Richard sat together on the sofa while Hermione perched on the tufted ottoman in the middle of the room.

"I think, my dear, that it is time we have a little talk," her father said.

Hermione knew this confrontation needed to happen. They needed to address how they came to be at this point. So many things remained unknown to both parties. She did not looking forward to explaining her own actions, but she hoped that, if their emotional reunion was anything to go by, she really didn't have any true reason to fear her parents' reaction. She hoped that they would never exile her from their lives or love. With a nodded, Hermione fixed her eyes on the carpeting at her parents' feet. She suspected that this would work best if she spoke first. After all, she held the beginning of the story, whereas they held the end. However, no matter how much she wanted to speak, the words wouldn't come out.

The trio sat silently for a moment before Jean sighed and spoke. "My dear, we need you to know that no matter what, we love you. We always will. You did what you thought best. We understand your motives. You acted in good faith and out of love. If there was anything to be forgiven in your actions, we willingly give you that forgiveness." Jean paused as her daughter once again began to weep, though with more dignity than she had displayed the previous night.

Jean realised that her fears were right. Hermione's conscience had got the better of her. From the moment Jean had understood the situation that Hermione had been forced into, her thoughts had centred around the great burden her daughter carried. It was too much for one so young.

Neither parent moved to comfort her as she wiped away her tears; they simply sat and observed with silent approval as their daughter grieved and healed.

Raised to believe in and rely on her own strength from a young age, Hermione intuitively understood that self-reliance was the Granger way. This understanding of this internal strength and self-trust had kept her sane throughout these past years. Only in the last few weeks, after the conclusion of the war, had she felt her strength faltering and slipping. Now, however, with her parents here to accepted and validate her grief and remorse once more, she felt that strength start to rebuild.

Into the quiet she spoke, her voice still shaking with emotion. "Thank you. You have no idea how much I have wanted to hear those words. How much I needed to hear them." A watery smile spread across her face. Carefully, taking measured, calming breaths through her nose, she slowly re-established her composure.

When she felt her emotions more fully stabilised, she continued, "I knew... What I did, I knew it needed to be done. There was no other way to protect you. Also, I knew you wouldn't have understood the urgency. I should have explained the war before I took action, but I couldn't figure out how. I searched for weeks to find a better way, and then, before I knew it, the war was coming fast and the chaos escalating. Things were out of control. In the end, I simply broke down and Obliviated you. It was safer for me to know that you were out in the world, somewhere safe and alive. Even if it was without the knowledge of your daughter."

Hermione's words came, quiet and quick, from her mouth, full of earnest emotion. When she finished, the room fell into an unnatural silence while everyone waited for someone else to speak. This time Hermione broke the silence, voicing the questions that were plaguing her mind.

"I don't understand, though. How are you here? How do you know what I did? About the war, me, Harry?" she asked.

"It is an odd story, really," Jean said with a laugh. "It is one of many stories I am sure we will share at a later date, but for now the short version will suffice. We were found by a silver-robed wizard, Tilinus. He reversed the Memory Charm and helped us arrange things for our return home. During the days that it took to make the arrangements, he helped us piece together a picture of what you went through. He explained the climate for Muggle-born witches, the danger that placed us in, and your involvement in the war itself. As soon as everything was arranged, we took the first Portkey home."

Hermione, who at first felt surprised at her mum's nonchalant use of the words 'Memory Charm', was now stunned. "A Portkey?" she blurted aloud.

Richard smiled at his daughter's uncharacteristic loss of decorum. "Yes," he chuckled. "We happily took a Portkey, Hermione. We were loath to allow another day to pass without getting home to you, love. You've been through so much, and we wanted to return as quickly as possible. It isn't a bad way to travel, even if it leaves you a bit green around the gills."

This was too surreal. Surreal that only twenty-four hours ago she'd sat here in this house alone and lost. Surreal that, somehow, her parents had returned with their memories intact and were set on embracing her wholeheartedly in a way they'd never done. However, the most surreal part of it all was the way her parents were treating the magic they'd experienced. It was as inexplicable as the surprise return itself.

The small, newly reunited family passed the rest of their first day together with a peaceful quiet about them. Often, Hermione found herself paired off with one of her parents while the other performed the necessary tasks of the day. It was a day of reflection for Hermione, the first time in a ages she felt as if a normal life was within her grasp. Yes, there was still a lot of healing for her to do, but for today, her internal demons were at rest. In that fact Hermione found comfort.

When the light of the evening sun faded from the room, Hermione bade her parents good-night and headed upstairs, the fatigue that had plagued her for weeks driving her to the bed. She hoped that, for the first time in many nights, true and peaceful sleep would find her.

* * *

_Hermione walked through the room, the sound of a slow wheezing breath all she could hear._

_The space around her glowed in a strange half-light, and the air moved around her as if a breeze were blowing through an open window._

_She watched the space before her where the light moved and shifted in odd flutters. Quirking her head to the side, she studied it closely, startled to find that a door was beginning to take shape, forming out of nothing before her very eyes._

_It beckoned to her, called for her to open it and enter. Somehow she knew that through the door lay her destiny. There was no other way to go, no other thing to do. She must open that door before doing anything else._

_Without a thought for her safety or well being, she took a step towards it._

_The door was tall, black, and made of a rich, dark wood. In the centre, a tiny silver dragon winked at her with violet eyes._

_Smiling at the dragon, she reached out her hand and wrapped it around the knob. With a quick, silent turn, she pushing the door open and stepped confidently through._

_Immediately, the room spun around her, and the door disappeared. Again, she heard the wheezing breaths sound in her ears._

_"Hello?" she called. "Who's there?"_

_A part of her told her that she should be afraid, that her dreams were no longer a place of happiness and comfort, but she found herself only able to generate curiosity._

_"Hm..." she said as she began to take measured steps forward._

_Closing her eyes, she let her ears and feet guide her to the person in the room. She listened intently to the sounds coming from the other person._

_"Please," she whispered as she walked, "I won't hurt you. I'm a friend."_

_She paused momentarily; the wheezing had morphed into a muffled and breathless chuckle._

_Hermione turned her head to the left and let her eyes peer through the darkness. Whoever it was, they were somewhere over to the left. About ten steps away, she estimated._

_Closing her eyes and quieting her breathing, she began to step toward her companion. Each foot touching the floor, first at the toes and then rolling silently down to the balls of her feet. Step after silent step, she moved. When she was approximately one step away, she spoke again._

_"Please, don't worry. I am here now." Her voice came soft, clear, and calm as she spoke, though the words seemed foreign. Why had she spoken those words in particular? She shook her head. No matter how foreign they seemed, they were her own._

_Kneeling down, she reached out a hand as her heart began to pound in her chest. Even with her eyes open, she could only make out the faint outline of the person lying before her in the dim, glowing light. As she gently extended the tips of her fingers, she felt the lightest brush of something silky against her skin._

_A hitched breath escaped the prone form before it morphed back into the wheezing, and Hermione tentatively ran the tip of her fingers along the silkiness at the tips of her fingers. Pressing them forward, she realised it was hair: long, silky hair._

_"You hair is very soft," she whispered._

_Suddenly, a hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, and her fingers were pulled up and away._

_Hermione jumped, panic flooding her. Ripping her wrist from the hand's bruising grasp, she backed away, frightened confusion coursing through her._

_Again, the room spun around her, her vision swimming and then settling into a somewhat wobbly version of clarity. Moonlight now flooded the room, and at her feet, a form began take shape. As she bent her body to better see, a quiet horror began to fill her. She recognised this shape. It had appeared before her countless times._

_"N-No," she stammered, her voice shallow and stressed._

_Not again!_

_Her ears strained for the wheezing breaths that just moments before had filled the room, and she found herself horrified when she could hear none. Had he not just chuckled at her? That meant something — counted for something — didn't it? This couldn't happen again. Not again. Not after that._

_"No!" she cried, her voice keening with distress._

_Frantically, she fell to the floor, the knees of her jeans immediately soaking up the dark liquid that was spilling from the now-silent person._

_"No. No. Not again," she pleaded as her hands frantically moved over his person._

_Tearing off her outer shirt, Hermione balled it up and placed it into the crook of the dying man's neck, desperate to staunch the bleeding. As tears began to streak down her cheeks, she continued to plead with him._

_"Please live. Please don't die."_

_Mindless of the blood surrounding her and the growing terror in her chest, she brought her ear to his mouth and listened for any signs of life. Relieved when she felt the faint breath leave his lips and move against her cheek, she took a deep breath and momentarily closed her eyes._

_He lived. For now._

_She remained this way for some time, hovering over him with eyes closed. Then, as if filled with a sudden madness, she began to feel around for a wand, all the while knowing her searching to be useless. No matter how often she experienced this situation, there were never any wands in this place._

_"No wands... I need a fucking wand," she growled. Hermione's hand flew to her hair, pushing it from her face before returning to press against the bunched and bloodied shirt that was sealing the gaping neck wound. It was futile, but she needed to try. Even if that meant doing something that would not work. How she wished that magic existed here._

_With her other hand, she reached around to the far side of his head and angled it so his eyes peered into hers. She needed to see them, to be sure that he saw her. She needed to know that he understood was not alone in this moment._

_Severus Snape stared back at her with dark eyes that glinted from black to brown to purple as they pleaded with her, begged her to do something. Anything. But she didn't know what to do. She could not save him._

_Tears falling, silent cries shaking her, she grieved for the man who died time and time again right before her eyes._

_He wouldn't last much longer now; he'd lost too much blood._

_With grim determination, she looked directly into his eyes and shook her head, frowning sadly._

_'No. I can't save you,' she thought with sorrow, unable to speak and confess her short failings to this man who was utterly reliant upon her these last moments of his life._

_As the light in his eyes faded, she saw his understanding. She could not do it this time. She could not save him. Resigned, he nodded, and with a small quirk of his lips, he closed his eyes and let out his final breath._

_Hermione broke into deep sobs as her body collapsed atop him._

_"I'm so sorry. I don't know how to save you. I don't know..." she sobbed._

_For many minutes she held him close to her, mindless of the sticky dampness of blood soaking both of them. Tears fell down her cheeks only to drop and continue their journey on his, as if anointing him with her grief and remorse._

_After she spent her tears and the shaking in her chest calmed, Hermione reached up and gently closed his unseeing eyes._

_With eyes never leaving him, she slowly rocked back onto her knees. Running a hand down his cheek, she quietly chanted out a prayer:_

_Etsi damnant quod non intelligunt,_  
_Omnia oblivioni sunt et omnia veniam sunt._  
_Requiescat In Pace, Severus_

With a wet face and swollen eyes, Hermione shot up in her bed. It had happened again. She had watched him die, helpless to do anything about it. Growling in frustration, she dashed away the her tears with an angry swipe. That was it. Her parents were back, and for the first time in months, she could feel the touch of happiness nearby. Apparently, not even that could break the pattern of tormenting nightmares.

It was time. She needed to tell Harry and find out what the hell was going on.

* * *

_This fic was first posted in the 2012 SSHG Exchange on Livejournal. It was a gift for the lovely HBAR and would not be here today if it hadn't been for the support I received from Sixpence Jones. The original prompt will be posted at the end of the final chapter. I hope you enjoy!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**In Aster Stars: A Tale of Mystery and Magic**_

_By Meladara_

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, and WB._

_I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

_A/N - Hi! Sorry I haven't updated in so long! It has been a busy summer. My hope is that I will be able to get this fic all cleaned up and posted in the next month or two. So, from here on out updates will be pretty regular. It is about 75k words long and mostly complete. As I said before, there is some clean up to do... I hope you all enjoy! As with most of my fics, you are can count on a HEA with a good dose of fluff for good measure by the end. So no worries about being left hanging or disappointed. I promise! I write what I like to read. ;) Reviews are always welcome, of course! I wish you all happy reading! ~Meladara_

* * *

Hermione went through her morning ablutions lost in deep thought. It had been a week now since her parents' return, and she was completely perplexed. Something in them had changed, and she simply couldn't understand how it had come about.

She had noticed it the first day when her parents had nonchalantly spoken of magical things, such as the Memory Charm and Portkey, but it had quickly evolved into something much more apparent. The next day, her mother, while working on cleaning the house, had asked her about magical household charms and had even gone so far as to ask for a demonstration. Hermione had been stunned when her mother had beamed a smile at the sight of the dust disappear from the shelves and the nick-nacks setting themselves right. Since that day Hermione had been helping to complete the daily chores magically.

Her father, too, had displayed a new interest in her magic. Hermione had been taken aback when, one evening, her father asked about the potions text she had been reading. For a second she hesitated to even answer, and when she did try to for a response, the one that made it to the tip of her tongue was one driven by the instincts she'd developed over the past six years when dealing with her parents. But before the words left her lips, she looked at him. The inexplicable interest and honesty on his face had pulled her up short and reminded her of the change in her parents' views. She had cautiously explained a bit about the book to him, hedging against the chance that he may revert to his previous views at any moment. Instead, he'd politely inquired after any introductory texts on the subject that she might have available for him to read. After a small fit of disbelief, Hermione had fished out her first year potions text and gave it to him. Since then he had read through and made notes on several of her potions texts; he had also expanded his reading into the subjects of herbology and magical creatures.

Switching off the light to her room, Hermione began descending the stairs. As she walked and contemplated the changes, she shook her head in disbelief. It seemed as if part of their brain, which had been asleep before, was now awake and allowed them to comprehend magic in an entirely new way. _How could such a thing even be possible?_ she wondered.

Good morning, Mum," Hermione said as she poured herself a cup of tea. "Do you mind if I invite Harry over today?" She had been meaning to send a Patronus to Harry for a week now, but the memory of her failed attempt from the previous week had held her back. However, her aching need to talk to a friend was grown, and she knew that she couldn't put it off any longer.

"Of course not, love. I would love to see Harry!" Jean exclaimed before turning back to the stove where she was frying up breakfast.

Hermione smiled. Her parents had immediately taken to Harry when they had met him. She suspected it had something to do with that fact that he understood how to function in the Muggle world and therefore, set her parents more at ease.

"Thanks, Mum. Will you be around to visit with him today?" Hermione asked.

"Actually, no. Your father and I will be out visiting some friends. Though, please don't let that stop you. If Harry has the time, perhaps he can stay for dinner."

"All right, then. I'm sure he would love to see you. Do you mind if I send him a message now?" she asked hesitantly.

Jean pulled the sizzling pan off the burner and turned to look at her daughter with excitement. "Yes, please!" she replied.

Shaking her head at her mother's bizarre excitement, Hermione closed her eyes. Thinking back to the moment, days ago, when the realisation had hit her that it was her parents standing before her. As the memory played out in her mind, she felt the slight tension in her release and a rush of happiness flood her. Brandishing her wand, she smiled playfully at her mum and chanted:

_Expecto Patronum!_

Bright light burst from the willow wand, careening across the room so quickly Hermione couldn't even make out the form of the little otter that she so adored.

Jean gasped at the amazing display. "What a lovely little dragon!" she exclaimed.

"A what?!" Hermione yelped, and she spun just in time to come face-to-face with her Patronus. As her faced drained of all colour and her knees began to buckle, she heard a distant voice calling her name. Then, she knew nothing.

* * *

Hermione's eyes fluttered open. The darkness faded from her eyes, and the familiar wallpaper of her childhood home came into focus. Confused, Hermione turning her heart, trying to take in her surroundings, and a dull throb burst behind her eyes causing her to still and her eyes to squint.

"Hermione, dear. Can you hear me?" a voice said.

Carefully, she began the process of propping herself up. Hands pressed to the floor, supporting her upper body, she hung her head and took a deep breath. Momentarily, her vision faded to black again, the dizziness again taking hold. She sucked in another breath and waited, frozen in place until her mind cleared.

"Hermione, dear. Can you hear me?" the voice repeated.

It was her mum.

She felt a gentle brush against her cheek as her mum brushed her hair out of her face.

"What happened?" Hermione murmured.

It was breakfast. She was drinking tea, and her mum was cooking breakfast. Hermione's hand flew to her forehead as the dull ache peaked in stabbing throb. Her mind struggled to clear itself through the pain.

She was at breakfast and they were talking about...

about...

Harry!

She gasped.

She remembered now. The Patronus she had meant to send Harry, it had... well, it hadn't gone as planned.

Finally feeling her brain, though not exactly clear, at least understanding the situation, Hermione raised her head gingerly and looked around. She was startled to find her mother sitting next to her, a concerned look upon her face.

"Hermione, dear, are you okay? You took quite a fall there," Jean said.

A dull ache vibrated through her skull as she nodded to her mother. Raising her head up to survey the room, her eyes grew wide before narrowing against the sudden throb brought on by the movement. There before her was a glowing figure.

"Still here, I see," she said, her voice an odd mixture of tired amusement and confusion. "Now, the question is, what are you?"

Playfully, the animal of mist and light gambolled toward the pair. Hermione smiled wanly. "Well, at least you're still friendly. Though, I really like my otter," she said a bit petulantly

The Patronus, now floating before her, nudged at her shoulder gently with its insubstantial head, the mist billowing out into puffs of smoky light where he touched her. As it drew back, the Patronus seemed to study Hermione. Stepping in front of her again, it motioned for her to stand with a nod of its head. Hermione laughed. "Okay, little one. I'll get up; just give me a moment."

Still feeling slightly dizzy, she stood up cautiously, and then she began to examine the Patronus.

Jean quietly watched on as the pair interacted.

"You're right, mum. He does look a bit like a dragon, of some sort, only much smaller," Hermione noted.

Standing at about a metre high, he had small wings and a blunt snout. On his head the light and mist shone very bright, forming what looked like a glowing star on his forehead. Pleased to have his mistress's attention, it began to bounce up and down in front of her, enthusiastically. She was reminded of a Disney movie she had watched as a child, there was an exuberant dragon in it much like the one before her. Although, if she recalled correctly, the one in the movie was much larger.

Tentatively, Hermione extended her fingers toward the little dragon, wondering if she would be able to touch him. Slowly, she allowed her fingers to glide over his head. The mist of light was cool against her skin, and as she moved, it swirled around her fingers, reshaping quickly as she withdrew them.

"Now, what to do with you? I suppose you could still take my message. Your arrival will certainly intrigue Harry enough to get him to visit much more quickly."

As if in agreement, the little dragon spun before her enthusiastically and then sat down to await his first-ever message.

Hermione laughed again. "Okay, little eager one, please go to Harry Potter and invite him to visit at his earliest convenience. Also, if you could deliver the message when he is alone; I'm not particularly interested in any_other_ company. Can you do that?"

The little dragon nodded, and then with a leap that launched him into a fast trek around Hermione, the Patronus bounced to the door and disappeared through the crack at the bottom.

"Well, that was interesting," Hermione said.

"It certainly was!" Jean replied happily, startling Hermione. Though she'd not forgotten her mother was watching on, it was difficult to get accustomed to her parents new love of magic. "Now, what was that thing? A patro-something? Right?" Jean asked enthusiastically.

* * *

"Hermione?" Harry called.

"I'm in here," Hermione answered from the back of the house. After receiving Harry's reply Patronus and seeing her parents off, Hermione was pleased to find the feeling of normality still with her. It felt as if the appearance of the little dragon, in combination with a week of her parents' company, had shored her up emotionally speaking and perhaps even healed a little of her wounded soul. Whether this was permanently or temporarily she couldn't tell, but she was grateful for the changes of the last week nonetheless.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked puzzled as he watched Hermione push the last bit of laundry into the dryer.

"Yes, Magic is faster, but there is something about warm, freshly laundered clothing that magic cannot duplicate." Picking up the basket that was sitting atop the dryer, she turned and walked past Harry, going into the main part of the house.

"I suppose," he said sceptically. The incongruity in the Hermione who had left Hogwarts and the Hermione he was seeing now was jarring, and it set him on edge. "So, how are you doing?"

"I'm not sure I have a great answer for that. I wasn't doing so well until a week ago, but I'm a bit better now. I managed to cast a Patronus at least, which is a good sign. Then, of course, I passed out, so..." her words faded as she leaned over the couch and overturned the laundry basket.

"You're going to fold it by hand?" he asked mildly surprised that she was doing everything without magic. Harry remembered that her parents didn't encourage her magic; however, they weren't here to watch, and Hermione, although Muggle-born, usually embraced her status as an adult witch.

"What's the point putting it to dry in a dryer if I don't get to enjoy the warmth and smell it generates? Honestly, do you ever listen to what I say?" Hermione sat herself next to the clothes and began to fold.

"Um... okay. You're odd today." Suddenly, he recalled her words. "Wait! What do you mean you passed out?"

Hermione laughed. "Exactly that. It's not a difficult concept. I'm surprised though, I expected that the first words out of your mouth would be something about the fact that my Patronus has changed. I passed out when I saw it, so I figured it would at least get some reaction out of you."

"Oh, you got a reaction. I'm here, aren't I? I was simply trying to show my maturity and wait until you were ready to explain." He grinned cheekily at her. "Not to mention I was just a tad surprised at your laundry methods. So, can you explain the miniature dragon? I mean, you've not suddenly fallen madly in love with Draco Malfoy or something? Right?" His voice held a teasing tone as the name of their school enemy rolled off his lips. It had always been a sure way to get her goat, mentioning the once bane of her life, Draco Malfoy. The fact that she now had a dragon Patronus was just the icing on the cake.

Pulling a face, Hermione scoffed, and her voice went high as she threw the towel she'd been folding at her friend. "Excuse me? Good Merlin, Harry... To even imply... I don't know what to say except that it goes against the laws of nature."

Harry laughed and tossed the towel back to her.

Catching it, she smoothed out the towel, folded it neatly and then set it aside. Thoughtfully, she spoke again, "Truthfully, I haven't a clue as to what happened with my Patronus. It was an otter, and now, it is a dragon of some sort. I won't really know more until I do some research. I can, however, guarantee that it has nothing to do with Draco Malfoy." She shuddered slightly. "Never. No. Never."

"All right then, why don't you tell me why I'm here. Not that I mind visiting my best friend. I really have missed you."

"Oh, Harry. I've missed you, too." For a moment Hermione simply looked at her friend. He was now sitting across from her, in her father's favourite chair, dressed in an odd purple plaid shirt and black trousers.

"You seem to be better," he observed.

"Well, looks can be deceiving, I assure you," she confided quietly. "I'm so confused, Harry."

"Oh." He was startled by the sudden melancholy in her voice; she had been so playful before. Folding his hands in his lap he waited for Hermione to continue.

Her chest heaved as she sucked in sharp breath, which caught in her throat. Exhaling slowly, the weight and sorrow began to slowly creep back into her mind as she began her story.

"I suppose," she said in a serious tone that sounded stark in contrast to the happy one she'd carried just moments earlier, "that I should start at the beginning."

"I'm not sure what happened to me, Harry. I don't think I was hit by a curse, " she whispered, a grim and sorrowful expression taking shape upon her face, "but it almost feels like I was. You know that after the final battle I just couldn't decompress like everyone else. Everywhere I went in Hogwarts, I was haunted by my memories of the battle – for weeks. These reminders faded, as I suspected they would, when I removed myself from Hogwarts; unfortunately, they were replaced by others, which were equally disturbing. I began hearing the phantom echoes of my parents' voices in our halls and seeing flashes of them as they would have gone about their everyday life. Essentially, my memories constantly flood me here, too. It was just not as bloody as it was at Hogwarts. Granted, the memories generated here are not quite so horrifying, but they weigh on me, nonetheless." Hermione paused, collecting her thoughts.

"I guess the phantom memories of my parents are the better choice of the two, but that isn't a concern now. You see, my parents came back."

Harry started. "What do you mean they came back? I thought..."

"I know. So did I. But apparently they were found by a wizard, and he removed the Memory Charm and helped them get home... by Portkey." Hermione chose her words carefully, knowing that Harry would make the same leaps of thought and come out with the same concerns that troubled her.

Harry's face began to drain of colour. "And they're here?" His voice suddenly alarmed as his wand slid into his hand.

"Don't worry. It is really them. I checked that in the first moments after their arrival. And they're not Imperiused as near as I can tell."

Her friend relaxed minutely and he allowed his hand to loosen it hold on his wand. "Well, that is something. So, do you know how? Or who? Or... Merlin, why? A mysterious wizard with enough skill to undo the Memory Charm finds them, does his magic, and then somehow convinces your parents to take a Portkey."

"Yes. Well, the truth is that I don't know much. They haven't been able or willing to explain much of their story other than the basics. My mum did imply at one point that she would tell me at another time, but I've never been able to get more out of her." Hermione paused. Looking to the laundry still piled in an unfolded heap next to her, she sighed and pulled out her wand. Waving it at the disorderly clothing, she watched as they quickly folded themselves and stacked into neat piles. Then flicking her wand negligently, each stack hopped into the laundry awaiting basket.

Harry, who was lost in thought, missed Hermione actions entirely.

After watching the basket float upstairs Hermione turned back to her friend. "Harry," she called, seeing that he was not paying attention.

"Sorry. It is odd, them coming back unexpectedly."

"Well, yes. That part is strange, but there is more, so much more. I told you they took a Portkey. My parents from before never would have taken a Portkey. My parents wouldn't have ever even said the word Portkey! But now it is like something was done to them to make them like magic, and they do, like magic that is. They've been kind and supportive since returning. It has helped hold back most of my problems, and given enough time, I think I could recover and go about living a normal life, that is, if I didn't have one other thing to deal with."

Hermione's eyes glazed over as a void expression flashed on her face. She seemed to see nothing as she considered how to share the next part of her situation.

"Nearly each night," she began hauntingly, "when I close my eyes, I see him." The words were spoken in a hushed voice full of halted, disjointed syllables, and her eyes began to glisten with unshed tears.

"Harry, when I sleep I see Professor Snape die, over and over again. I can smell his blood so strongly that it is almost a taste in my mouth. I can feel his breath as it leaves his body, sense the coldness of his skin under my hands. His eyes..." Tears began painting her cheeks now, streaks of sorrow down her face. "Worst of all are his eyes. They aren't black you know. They are a deep, deep brown that sometimes looks almost purple, and they watch me, plead with me. Somehow, I know he is asking me to save him, to help him, but I can't. I don't know what to do, and every night it is the same; he dies and I can't do anything to save him." Leaning back on the couch, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to smother the sobs beginning to shake in her. "I had hoped that with my parents here they would stop, but they aren't! And soon... so very soon, this will break me, Harry." As the confession of her deepest fear slipped from her lips, she choked out in broken sobs, "I don't know why? Why me? Why him, Harry? Why can't these things just leave me alone? Everything would be better if they would just stop!"

Harry jumped from his seat and rushed to Hermione's side. Gathering her up in his arms, he held her as she sobbed into his shoulder. "Shh... love. We'll work it out." Tears continued to flow from her as his shirt began to dampen, but still, he held his friend close. He really hadn't known what to expect today, but he was glad that he'd come. Hermione was, despite the strong front she put on for the world, such a gentle soul, and if being here helped her, then it was the least he could do. After all, she had stood by him during his darkest hours.

Harry pressed a kiss into the mess of curls clutching at his chest. "Don't cry. We'll figure this out. Plus, you are making a mess of my shirt, and this is one of Gin's favourites."

Hermione let out a muffled and soggy laugh. "Gin would like this monstrosity." She ran her fingers over the purple plaid covered shoulder, removing invisible dust. "Wizards really have no fashion sense whatsoever."

Harry chuckled. "Can't argue with you there. Now, about these dreams: When did they begin?" Harry asked her as he absently stroked her hair.

"I think it was maybe a night or two after the battle. I'm not sure.; that time period is very muddled in my mind. Before I left, I was having them every night. There are times when all I have to do is close my eyes, even during waking hours, and I find myself staring into his haunting eyes."

"And each night it is the same? Exactly?"

She gave a small nodded and then shook her head, as if unsure how to answer. "Yes and no," she said, before explaining further. "They start differently. In the beginning, they are calm and peaceful dreams. He is in them still, but then, they... I don't know, they warp and shift into..." Hermione paused to consider the exact details. "Things don't happen exactly like things did in the Shrieking Shack, but it's pretty close. I certainly don't remember smelling the blood so strongly. And the way he looks at me now, he did look at me for a moment just before he died, but not like this, not with such emotion and expectation. It is as if he is looking at me, expecting me to save him, but it is never clear what I am supposed to do. Then, when he realises that I can't save him, he dies."

They both sat silent for a time, Harry unsure of how to respond and Hermione unable to. Finally, she swallowed the lump in her throat and pressed on, "So, that is it. I had to leave because I couldn't take the memories the halls of Hogwarts brought back coupled with the nightmares. Then came the disaster with Ronald, which, unfortunately, I didn't see coming. I was too distracted and near my breaking point, and he was an idiot to think that I would be open to public confessions of love when we've never dated. I know I overreacted, which led to him overreacting, but still, he should have known better, grieving or not. He has a bloody brain and needs to learn to use it. Then, I came here and was miserable until my parents showed up. They have discovered a new love for magic but won't tell me anything beyond the basics of their return, and for some reason, I'm being haunted by my former professor, which is reducing me to an irrational, emotionally distraught condition."

Hermione stopped abruptly. Alarmed by the rush of words that had erupted from her. Sitting silently, she contemplated the recent events in her life. "It makes no sense. By all accounts I really shouldn't care this much about the death of a man who was only ever my teacher, a mean one at that. Because of everything, I've been unable to function, or I was so until my parents showed up. Even now, I find myself getting lost to odd bouts of melancholy. Before my parents came I'd get completely lost in my thoughts for hours. I shake myself out of this daze of grief and find that another day had passed. It isn't so bad now; they keep me grounded, I think. But I need help, Harry. I can't go on reliving this each night. It will eventually drive me insane. And worst of all is that I can't even really think of anything that can stop it, other than talking to you."

"Oh, Hermione. I had no idea," he said, hugging her tighter. "I don't have any answers, but we'll figure it out together. Okay? I think that the first thing you should do is talk to your parents. Find out the details of their story. Then, maybe we can plan a trip to Hogwarts for some research into recurring dreams."

"That's brilliant, Harry! You're right; a little research is just what I need. See, just talking today has helped me feel better."

"I'm glad." Harry said as Hermione pulled back. She looked much better now: calmer, more focused, more like herself. "I hate to ask, but have you given any more thought about the Ron situation?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. "Ron. No, not really. There is nothing to talk or think about. We kissed, it was a mistake and done in the midst of a battle. I don't understand what possessed him to confess his undying love to me in the Great Hall in front of most of the Order and his family. It was an idiotic move. Someday, I'm sure, we will be friends again, if he wants that. But it can never be more than that. I can't give him what he wants, and I am not what he needs. He certainly isn't want I need or want. Maybe I thought he was at one time, but I don't now. I've changed too much; my changed Patronus is testament enough to that fact. I don't know what more to say, other than I know, without a doubt, that I will never love him in the way he wants."

"Fair enough. I just had to ask, for his sake. He misses you. The whole family is still trying to figure out how to move on after Fred's death. Ron just chose the wrong way to do that."

"I know. I do feel bad, but with everything else, all the death and trauma, I find it hard to care. It all seems trivial"

"I do. All right," Harry said loudly as he slapped his hands on his lap, and then stood quickly before turning to Hermione and pulling her up, "why don't I send a message off to Professor McGonagall and see if we can schedule a visit to Hogwarts. That is, if you think you are up to it?"

"I think that I am, but only if you are with me. How about I go order some take-away while you send your message?" Hermione smiled at her friend.

"You do that. I'm going to send a message to Gin, too. I don't want her to worry."

"All right, then," Hermione said as she made her way to the phone in the kitchen. It was nice to talk to Harry again. It made her feel like normal again. Just as she reached the door leading into the kitchen, she turned back to her best friend. "Harry, thank you. I don't..." her words faded, and her eyes once again went distant, she didn't know exactly how to explain what it meant that he cared so deeply for her.

"I understand. You'd do the same for me, love." Tilting his head to her, he quirked a grin and then added, "Get ordering! I'm starving."

Hermione groaned mockingly, "Boys! Bottomless pits, more like!"

Listening to the sound of the kitchen door closing, Harry sighed, his hand running through and messing his hair. It was a puzzling situation to be true. It worried him that something could be bothering Hermione so, after all they had been through. Thinking back on the past year, Harry knew that Hermione had believed in him and had given him her entire support. She would have died before abandoning him to his fate. Hermione was a truly special person, and he'd sincerely meant it when he'd told her that she was the sister he'd never known all those weeks ago. To him, she was his only true family, and he'd do whatever he needed to help her through this rough time.

* * *

_This fic was first posted in the 2012 SSHG Exchange on Livejournal. It was a gift for the lovely HBAR and would not be here today if it hadn't been for the support I received from Sixpence Jones. The banner is by talesofsnape. The original prompt will be posted at the end of the final chapter. I hope you enjoy! _


	4. Chapter 4

_**In Aster Stars: A Tale of Mystery and Magic**_

_**Chapter Four**_

_By Meladara_

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, and WB._

_I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

_A/N: Here you go! We're making progress here, but there is still so much story le ftto tell! Squee! What do you think about their return? Do you think they are in danger? I'd love to hear you theories! ;) ~Mel_

* * *

"Hi Mum, Dad," Hermione greeted as her parents walk in the door.

Harry left not long after lunch, having promised to take Ginny over to visit Luna, and since Professor McGonagall had asked for them to wait until tomorrow to visit, Hermione had encouraged him to go. She knew that she would be fine despite his worries otherwise. Hermione had sat and thought things over while she waited her parents to get home. Broaching the subject would not be easy. For the past week her parents had been rather evasive in regards to their return, but she knew she couldn't put off questioning them any longer. After talking to Harry, it was clear to her that she needed to understand, to the fullest extent, what had happened in Australia. It was the only way to be sure they were not in danger.

"Hello, dear," Jean said with a smile as she hung up her purse and then expectantly looked around the sitting room. "Is Harry still here? Can he stay for dinner?"

Hermione smiled at the inquiry; it was so nice that there was true affection between her parents and Harry. "Sorry, Mum. He couldn't stay, but he'll stop by tomorrow. You can say hi then. And it is probably for the best, because I wanted to speak to you guys about something."

With a nod of understanding, her parents sat down together on the sofa.

It was difficult to even know where to start. They were being so understanding about the whole situation – the war, the Obliviation, everything – she knew that the very fact that they were being so amiable was what had held her back before. What if they went back to how they were before? What if questioning them, pressing them for their story disturbed the harmony of their relationship – a harmony that she hadn't felt with them in many years, a harmony that seemed to be all that was holding back the impended madness of sorrow and nightmares?

"I know you are not inclined to talk about it," Hermione tentatively began, her eyes watching for any sign of discomfort or disapproval from them. "However, I think I am going to need you tell me exactly what happened to you in Australia now. Harry and I have some concerns..." The question of the how to explain Harry and her concerns without completely frightening them stumped her. Careful to speak generally and leave out all references to the war and Death Eaters, she pressed forward, hoping that it would be enough to encourage them to speak. "... some very valid concerns. There are a lot of manipulative people out there who practice questionable magic, and we want to be sure that you are completely safe. I can't always be here to protect you, and you are completely defenseless against anyone from the Wizarding world."

Jean looked at Hermione with sharp eyes. "If you are really that concerned... " she said. "It is a valid point, and I confess we hadn't really looked at it that way before."

"Do you really think that we are at risk here?" Richard asked with confused alarm.

There was something about her parents' expression. They were so trusting of magic now, and it was because of this that Hermione suddenly realised she couldn't hold back. She didn't want to be forced to tell them the true extent of the danger they could be in any more than she wanted to force them into telling her their story. But she needed to protect them. They would have to know some things if she wanted them to be safe. It wasn't right of her to keep them in the dark, anyway.

"Well, I hope that you aren't in danger," she said, her voice shaky, "but the truth is that there will always be some risk. There are supporters of Voldemort still out there and probably always will be. As my parents... or rather as the parents of _War Heroine Hermione Granger_, you will always be a prime target. Right now, my most important concern is to be sure that everything that was done to you before your return was safe. Then we can go from there."

Hermione looked at her parents as they processed her words. Her heart ached for them, for herself, for all of them. It seems as if there was always just one more thing waiting around the corner to steal her happiness. She could feel the tendrils of fear and despair creeping back into her mind and heart, reminders of the condition she had been in before they had come back to her. Knowing that she couldn't let it take hold of her – not now, not when she had to able to think and process what her parents told her – she shook her head and stubbornly straightened her back . Taking up her wand, she gave it a hard flick and summoned a notebook and pen from the desk across the room.

As the notebook and pen landed in her lap, Hermione felt her mind clear. She could do this. It was research, note taking. She was good at these things. With eyes focused on her waiting parents, she spoke, her voice all business. "Eventually, I'd like to have you looked over by Madam Pomfrey, just so we can be sure that you don't have any residual magic affecting you, but for now why don't you tell me about Tilinus? For instance, what does he look like?"

Both parents sat apparently deep in thought for a moment before Jean spoke.

"He's rather tall, with long black hair and striking eyes. They were very dark but not quite black, almost iridescent in the right light. If eyes could be called magical... his were. He was a very striking man, not one you'd easily forget."

"Anything else?" Hermione asked. "Did he have any scars or tattoos that you can remember?"

"I don't recall any scars," Jean replied. "But now that I think about it, I believe I did see a tattoo on his arm at one point... Although, I don't recall what it looked like."

Hermione tensed. That was definitely something she didn't want to hear. The fact that he had a tattoo on his arm did not make him a Death Eater, but it certainly raised some red flags.

"Mum, where on his arm? Do you remember anything else about it? Colour? General shape? Size?" There was a frantic tinge to her voice that betrayed her alarm, but she needed to know.

Jean's eyes went distant while Hermione and Richard waited patiently for her to answer. "It was on his left inner forearm. I know that much," she said with confidence. "I remember because he wrote with his left hand, and he was writing when I saw it. But other than that, everything is a general blur. It might have been darker in color, but that could just be my mind making things up."

Hermione sighed and looked to her father. "Dad, what about you? Do you remember anything about his appearance?"

"He was a striking man, as your mother has mentioned," Richard said.

Hermione nodded, her hand scribbling down notes.

"His robes were very noticeable." He paused, seemingly scanning his memories for the details. "They were obviously very expensive. I believe there were made of silver silk. Looking at them as he walked was almost like watching sliver water ripple with movement or as if there was a wind blowing against them."

Eyes narrowing, Hermione turned to her notebook and scribbled down his words.

"Bespelled robes," she muttered absently. Then looking to her parents, she said, "Well, that is interesting."

Looking down at her notebook again, Hermione scanned through what she had written.

_Tilinus_  
_Dark Hair_  
_Striking Iridescent Eyes_  
_Tattoo On Left Forearm_  
_Left-handed_  
_Silver Silk Robes (billow?)_

There was only one person that she knew personally who could be described in such a way. It couldn't be him though. After all she watched him die each night, iridescent eyes and all. She almost wished it was him; it would make things so much easier.

"Okay…" she began again, her voice wavering and her hand rustling through her hair nervously . "Can you describe what happened? Do you remember the first time you met him?"

"Well, we first met him about three weeks ago. He came to the door one evening and asked if he could speak to us about an important private matter, and so we invited him in." Jean's voice faltered, sudden confusion marring her face. "I'm not really sure why we let him in that evening, really," she whispered. "You have to remember were still under the memory charm, but... There was something sincere about him. We could tell he meant us no harm, despite his imposing appearance."

Hermione repressed a shudder, profoundly disturbed by her mother's words. There was something about it, something off about her insistence that this strange wizard meant them no hard. What kind of magic had he used on her parents? Obviously, there had to have been some magic in play. Even in their Obliviated state, Hermione knew without a doubt that her parents would have never allowed a stranger into their home without a good reason. It just wasn't done.

Jean continued, "After he came into the house… I remember he already had his wand in his hand. Of course, I didn't recognize it for what it was at the time. We sat on the sofa, much as we currently are now, and he asked me to look into his eyes. After a time – I don't know how long – I was myself again and the memory charm was gone. Then he did the same to your father." Wringing her hands in her a lap, Jean looked to her husband and nodded for him to pick up the story.

Hermione looked from her mum, who now was fighting tears, to her father, who was sitting rather stiffly beside Jean, obviously uncomfortable with continuing the story. Hermione's stomach twisted in knots and anger began to simmer within her. She hated having to do this; her parents should have to be interrogated or explain anything. They should be allowed to move on with their lives. They shouldn't – she shouldn't – have had to deal with any of this in the first place. They had paid so much, them with their daily lives and memories, she in blood, sweat, and tears. Hermione loved her magical abilities, but she had no illusions about the problems within this magical culture. All it would take is some basic human rights when it came to Muggles, a basic understanding that they are people too, and the whole war could have been avoided in the first place.

Hermione grit her teeth against the sudden surge of anger just as Richard shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Gripping her pen and pressing it into the notepad, it left a deep black mark on the page. She heard her father finally pick up the story, and she looked up.

"You know, although I didn't know what magic was at the time..." he started, his voice coming across her ears as stunted and emotionless, "it makes me very uncomfortable that I allowed him to do that to you, Jean. I just sat and watched. I remember sitting and watching while he looked into your eyes. After a few minutes, he broke contact, and I could see that your eyes were brimming with tears."

Richard breathed in with a gasp, and the dam that had been holding back his true feelings seemed to break and emotion flooded his voice. "I didn't understand what was going on," he told them, "and honestly, I still don't. When you smiled, Jean, I think that helped. Any concern I might have felt were washed away." He paused and took a another deep breath, reaching deep down within himself to grasp the emotional stability on which he normally existed. "So, anyhow, that is how it happened. After Tilinus finished with Jean, he did the same to me."

Richard and Jean both sat in silence now. The couple was obviously shaken, and Hermione watched her parents unsure of what to do next. She felt like she had violated them throughout all of this – the Obliviation, the strange wizard, tes questioning – all of it rasped against her conscience and left her feeling responsible for their pain.

"It is odd thinking back now," Richard said, breaking the silence, his voice raw and unstable. "We should have been more wary, but there truly was no fear, only understanding and willingness." He then reached over to Jean, enclosing her smaller hand with his, and Jean leaned into him.

Hermione could see that both of them were looking pale. It was on the tip of her tongue to offer to stop and continue this another time when her mother spoke.

"It was very startling, you see," Jean's explained, the comforting touch of her husband seemingly giving her voice strength. "Afterward, we could only think of you. We needed to know where you were. What were you doing? Why you had sent us away? We were very confused, as I'm sure you can imagine. That first day, Tilinus told us about the war and your role in it. A few days later, he gave us some of the more recent copies of the Daily Prophet to read. Then, after we knew what was going on, he asked us what we wanted to do. We were anxious to return, and as soon as he could arrange it, we did so. It was he who took care of all the arrangements, financial and otherwise. He even put us in touch with an attorney that works in both the Muggle and Magic worlds, to manage the legal side of our relocation. It took several days for us to get everything in order, and by then a week had already passed. It was during the final days that I saw the tattoo. Tilinus had removed his outer robes on a particularly warm day, and then he received an owl and had to scribble a quick note. His sleeves were rolled up, but I really can't recall the tattoo... but maybe, with time, I'll remember."

"Do you recall anything else?" Hermione queried. "What about his voice? Was he British? Australian? Could you place his accent? What about his wand? Do you remember anything about that?"

Hermione knew that asking question after question wouldn't get her information any faster, but that knowledge couldn't quell her growing interest and the accompanying need to understand the situation.

"He spoke with a English accent dear, well-educated London, I'd say, but at times, it did take an edge of Spanish or Italian. If I had to, I'd guess that English wasn't his native language, though he did speak it extremely well."

"Okay, that could be helpful. Then again, it could have been a complete affectation... knowing how wizards are, I wouldn't be surprised. What about his wand? Anything you remember is helpful. Did it have any designs on it? What colour was the wood?"

"Now, that I do remember," Richard cut in. "His wand was made of a very light wood. It was inlaid with a darker wood in a intricate star motif. It was very different from yours, dear. It was thicker and had a slight curve to it."

Hermione was intrigued. She had never heard of a wand that was curved. Although, admittedly, wandlore information had been hard to come by for them in the past, and she was certain that there was a great deal of knowledge on the subject that she simple did not have.

"Is there anything else that you could tell me? Any other information? Any other meetings that happened? Anything odd or notable?"

"We only saw Tilinus a handful of times. The first day he came he didn't stay long. After he'd reversed the charm and given us a small explanation, he left us to process the developments. Beyond that, we met five more times, including when he delivered the Portkey. Each of the meetings began the same. He would repeat the check of our minds, to be sure that there was no residual damage from the Memory Charm removal, and then we would spend the time talking. He was very kind and considerate."

This made no sense to Hermione. She had studied Memory Charms extensively prior to performing one on her parents. For certain, she knew that, once a Memory Charm was removed and the memory restored, there was no need for further Legilimency, which is what she was sure this wizard was doing.

Who was this person? What did he want? What was he looking for in their minds? The only thing that she could think of was that he was searching for information on her, and that thought made her blood run cold. Hadn't they given enough of themselves, of their lives, to this war. Could she not be left to heal in peace.

Jean and Richard watched as Hermione's gathered her thoughts and waited for their daughter to speak again. They knew she would explain when she was ready.

With a quavering hands, Hermione set aside her notebook and looked up to her parents. "This really does not sound good. When he was looking into your eyes he was performing Legilimency, which is the art of reading another's mind. What I can't understand is why! I mean… the only thing I can think is that he was looking for information on me. The Wizarding world is not full of do-gooders, as I know well, and for him to follow you, to find you... There were very few people who knew where I'd sent you. He would have had to get the information directly from me or Harry or Ron. Tomorrow, Harry and I are going to go Hogwarts to see if we can find any information on this Tilinus. We need to know what he was up to, what are his political leaning and motivations. We need to know exactly what he wants with us."

Both her parents nodded. "You do what you must, love," Jean said comfortingly. "Just keep us posted on what you learn. We definitely want to understand what Tilinus wanted with us, dear. Though, I do still get the feeling that he meant no harm."

* * *

"What do you think, Richard?" Jean asked from where she lay in bed.

"I don't know," Richard whispered, pulling on his pajamas. "She certainly is alarmed. Do you think he did anything harmful to our minds?"

"I don't think so. It doesn't feel that way. But looking for information on Hermione… What if that is what he was doing? Do you think she is in danger?"

"Jean, she has been in danger for years now. We know that. He showed us the papers. It was full-blown war. There are times when she seems almost like our little girl again, but then, there are other moments when it seems as if I don't even know her." Richard sighed and climbed into bed next to his wife, pulling her into his arms.

"Exactly," Jean replied. "Something happened to her, changed her. And she is really concerned about Tilinus and how we returned home. I want to say that it is ridiculous, but it's not. I can understand her need to keep us safe, and she has incredibly good instincts," Jean told him as she snuggled deep under the covers.

"Well, that is how Hermione works. She never does anything by halves. I know she loves us and wants to keep us safe. Let's just let her have her way and do her little investigation. It can't hurt anything."

"I really don't want her going back to Hogwarts, Richard. I don't think she is ready." Jean's voice was conflicted.

"What do you mean?" Richard asked.

"Oh..." she said with a sigh. "I really don't know… since she's told me nothing about it." Jean let out an irritated huff. "Tilinus told us about the big battle, and it happened at Hogwarts. I know that is what haunts her each night. We've both heard her crying. I can't imagine that it would do her any good to return so soon. She's emotionally unstable and incredibly good at hiding that fact."

"I agree, Jean. We can speak to her in the morning, if you'd like, but we both know that she will go anyway. If she thinks what she is looking for there, then nothing we do can stop her. After all, nothing stands between our Hermione and her quest for knowledge."

Jean let out a tired chuckle that quickly morphed into a yawn. "You are right there. I just hope that she is okay."

"Me too, my love. Me too."

* * *

_This fic was first posted in the 2012 SSHG Exchange on Livejournal. It was a gift for the lovely HBAR and would not be here today if it hadn't been for the support I received from Sixpence Jones. The original prompt will be posted at the end of the final chapter. I hope you enjoy!_


	5. Chapter 5

_**In Aster Stars: A Tale of Mystery and Magic**_

_**Chapter Five**_

_By Meladara_

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, and WB._

_I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

_A/N: Happy Friday! Hope you enjoy the update! Happy reading and reviewing! _

_~squishes~, Mel_

* * *

It was a grim and war-weary Professor McGonagall that had met Hermione and Harry at the Hogwarts gate. After escorting them straight to the library, she had invited them to join her in the staffroom for lunch at twelve o'clock. Then she had promptly left them to their own devices. Hermione and Harry had spent several hours scouring the library, without luck, for any information on recurring dreams or the mysterious Tilinus. Rather frustrated by the lack of progress in the library, they were now making their way through the halls on their way to the staffroom for lunch.

For Hermione, it was weird to walk through the halls again. It really hadn't been long since the battle, only seven weeks, but the distance that she had placed between herself and Hogwarts seemed to have done a bit to relieve some of her sensitivities. As she walked through the halls with Harry by her side, Hermione hoped that she would be able to continue visiting without being reminded of the horrors she had seen. She was grateful that, at the very least, all the damage from the battle had been repaired and the school itself had an air of peace about it. It was comforting, although she knew that those who inhabited that castle still remembered and honoured those they'd lost.

"Ah. There you are Hermione, Harry," Professor McGonagall said as Hermione pushed opened the door to the staffroom. "Please join us. Filius and Poppy are already here and Septima should be here momentarily."

"Thank you," the pair mumbled nervously. It wasn't everyday that one ate at the same table with persons who had, for the last six years, been their professors or school matron.

"Now, now. Don't be shy," Madam Pomfrey chided. "Come sit and dine. You've been shut up in that dusty library for far too long today."

"Thank you, madam," Hermoine replied kindly, remembering the fondness she had felt for the school matron over the years.

As Hermione and Harry began to serve themselves, Filius watched them from his chair. It was clear that the pair was uncomfortable. "What has brought you back to Hogwarts today?" he began conversationally, trying to put the two at ease. "Did you have any luck finding what you need?"

"Not really," Hermione said, her hand pausing in mid-air and the spoon fidgeting. Irritation flooded her face as she explained. "The library was rather less forthcoming that I had hoped it would be today. It seemed more interested in hiding books from us today than sharing them."

Harry eyes narrowed in confusion at the suggestion that the library would hide the books.

"Ah. That usually means that it does not have what you seek," a voice chimed from behind them.

"Irma!" Professor McGonagall cried as she rose to welcome the librarian home. "You've returned. I didn't expect you for a few days yet. Please, join us."

The two woman rejoined the group, and Madam Pince continued, "From my many years of dealing with the Hogwarts library, I'd say that by the reaction you received today, it doesn't have what you seek, my dear. It is part of the castle after all and sometimes has a mind of its own. Why don't you tell me what you are looking for? I have a pretty thorough knowledge of everything in our library."

Harry watched Hermione as she weighed her options. Choosing to play it safe and not mention her nightmares, she told them about she had Oblivated her parents. Then she explained how they had mysteriously returned with a completely new outlook on magic and about the man who had apparently aided them.

"I doubt there is anything in the library on behaviour modifications such as you are speaking, as you know there isn't much literature on Muggle-Wizard relations, although Poppy may know of something. As far as the man you are seeking information on, the more recent copies of the Wizards Who's Who may be helpful. It contains information on many of the most prominent figures throughout the whole Wizarding world."

"Thank you, that would be most helpful," Hermione said, grateful that perhaps they would make some progress in their search after all.

"I think I may have something that can help you," Madam Pomfrey added thoughtfully. "I have a very old book on healing; it originates from a time before the secrecy act. If I remember correctly, there is mention of magic being performed on Muggles - non-harmful, healing magic mind you. It has been many years since I've even opened it, so there are no guarantees. You are welcome to look through it if you think it would help. Though, I would ask that you do not remove it from Hogwarts; it is rather fragile, and I'm not sure it could hold up to any form of travel."

"Oh, that would be wonderful!" Hermione said, her excitement growing. Perhaps the library had somehow known that she needed to seek information elsewhere.

"What do you know about the man who found your parents?" Professor McGonagall asked.

More at ease now, Hermione explained all that her parents had told her about Tilinus, from his appearance, to his accent, and even his wand.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were describing Severus," said a wry voice from the door.

Only Harry heard the gasp that escaped Hermione as everyone turned to watch Professor Vector join them, their faces filled with shock and outrage.

"Well, it does sound like him, doesn't it?" Professor Vector said as she bustled to the table.

Pulling her lips tight, McGonagall begrudgingly replied, "I suppose it does, after a manner."

Hermione sighed and turn her attention away from her two favorite professors, instead allowing her eyes to take in the staffroom. It was disappointing to see that Professor McGonagall hadn't let her anger toward Professor Snape go. He was dead, after all, and he'd been on their side the whole time. As her eyes landed on a banner that was adorned with a rather Slytherin motif, she came to a sudden realisation. This was where he would have spent much of his time. This would have been the place where he escaped after a long day of teaching. Adrenaline flooded Hermione and her vision swam. She was in his world now, this dim room where colleague talked and commiserated about the daily task of minding students. As her vision slowly cleared, she could see him here before her, a haunting vision from her tormented mind. She could see him sitting across the room, in the deep chair by the fire. His ever pleading eyes burning into her as blood seeped from his neck to soil his robes. The phantom breath rasped from his lips, and she shivered. Tears welled in her eyes and as she blinked away the sight she heard Harry whisper beside her.

"Hermione, it isn't him. It can't be."

For a moment she sat, stunned. Had Harry seen the vision too? Looking to him, she searched his face, but there was nothing there to show that she had seen the phantom Snape sitting across the room. When he continued, she realised her mistake.

"Yes, Snape was a Legilimens and even favoured fancy billowing robes like Tilinus. But we watched him die, Hermione. We were there, and none of them were. They don't know what we saw; they didn't see him die…." Harry sighed and then his voiced picked up in timbre as he tried to again reassure her, "Snape didn't speak with that kind of accent, nor was his wand curved. It's okay, love."

Something about his reassurances grated on her nerves. She wanted to shake him and insist that it could be him, that despite what they'd seen, these dreams had to mean something, and she wasn't going insane. There was such wonderful magic in this world, and it didn't matter that they had watched his last breath slip from his lips, that he had bleed out at their feet, some thing or some magic could have saved him. She wanted too grasp at the wild, irrational hope, but she knew she couldn't. Snape was dead, and death is irrevocable.

"It isn't him," Harry repeated as his eyes searched the staffroom until they met those of Minerva McGonagall, whose gaze had just lifted from closely watching Hermione. Noting the alarm and question in the Headmistress' eyes, he shrugged before turning his attention back to Hermione.

Hermione shook her head and dabbed away her tears as Madam Pomfrey's voice cut through her distress. "His eyes were somewhat iridescent though, as your mother described. It is rather rare, eyes such as his. I always loved his eyes..." she trailed off, losing herself in the memory. "Most of the time he left a Glamour on them to make them appear black," she continued after a moment, "for the students, you see... He never wanted to draw attention to himself in that way."

Panic filled Hermione's eyes as she processed the words of Madam Pomfrey. Harry, noting Hermione's growing distress, reached under the table and grabbed her hand, squeezing it reassuringly while laughing allowed to purposefully drawing the attention of the group. "He wanted us to be afraid of him, not fascinated," he said with a chuckle. "I wish I could have seen his eyes un-Glamoured though, if they really were iridescent."

"You did, Harry." Hermione replied absently as she withdrew her hand from his. Her eyes gazed ahead unseeing, as she remembered the moment where his eye had met hers, when she had first seen the darkness fade into the magical iridescence that seemed so impossible. She hadn't let herself acknowledge it before, so unlikely was the phenomenon.

Harry's stomach fell to his feet as he realised what she was stating - glamours wouldn't have held under such stress. Before he could stop himself, he mumbled a surprised, "Oh, I suppose in the end…" The suppressing the rest of his comment he looked to her cautiously.

"Yes..." she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Only Harry heard her as she continued to shakily speak. "They are like that in my...," she hesitated. "Well, when I see them, they move between colours... They're nearly purple sometimes... I never really thought to notice it before though." With a solemn face she looked down at her hands, which were neatly folded in her lap, and watched as tears began to dot them.

Silently, she wept for the man, for his loss, for the entire situation that she found herself in.

The professors, finally aware of the poor girl's breakdown, were stunned at her odd display of emotion toward their fallen colleague. They simply sat, watching her grieve, unsure of how to react.

Harry, unable to take his friend's anguish, turned to her and pulled her up from her chair. "Alright, Hermione. I think that is enough for you for today," he whispered. As Hermione nodded and dashed away the tears with quick swipes, Harry turned to Professor McGonagall. "Do you mind if we return tomorrow?" Harry asked. "We need to have a look at those books, at the very least, and I'm sure Hermione would like to do a little more research in the library."

"That is fine, of course. In the future know that you are welcome to come and go as you please. Just let Filius or I know when you will be about the castle."

"Thank you, Professor." Hermione said. Then, after giving a weak smile to the professors, they left.

* * *

Harry and Hermione sat on the swings of her neighbourhood park, slowly moving back and forth. Hermione had not wanted to return home until she had regained some composure. The park also provided them a chance to talk without the interference from others and therefore was a welcome respite. After sitting silent in the park for sometime, Harry spoke. "That was awkward."

"I suppose," Hermione said, her voice was still weak with emotional exhaustion and more than a little embarrassment. "Well," she sighed, "at least the professors were helpful, and now we've got a few leads."

"True. The library certainly was odd," Harry said, trying to draw her out of her malaise.

She said nothing. Instead the she pushed herself into the air and allowed herself to think back on the day. There were so many questions yet to be answered. After a time, she slid to sudden halt and then took a deep breath. She had hoped that after the war things would grow easier for them. It wasn't supposed to be this way.

"What didn't you tell me before, Hermione?" Harry asked suddenly, his eyes fixed on the ground.

"What do you mean?" she asked, unsure of his meaning. Not wanting to look at her friend, she pushed off and let her swing drift back in a slow motion.

"Why didn't you tell me that the man, Tilinus, sounds like Snape?" he clarified.

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione hedged. "We watched him die, and it just didn't... doesn't seem likely."

"But coupled with your dreams, it almost seems like too much; it's too suspicious," he argued.

Rolling her eyes, she was perturbed. "How do you think that makes me feel Harry? Is it so hard to believe that maybe I am torn between wanting it to be him and knowing that it cannot?" Her voice grew angrier as she spoke. "Damn it, Harry. You were the one in the Great Hall not thirty minutes ago telling me it wasn't him. Don't get upset at me, because that is what seems like a little bit too much!" She glared at Harry.

"After all these years... Do you really think I'm overreacting, Hermione?" he reasoned. "Think about the things that have happened in the past. This isn't a world of reason or logic and just because-"

"Harry! He's dead, we watched him die!" she cried before he could finish his thought. "Have you tried thinking about this from my perspective? I sat there and listened to my parents describe the very man I watch die every night. Every night! So don't you tell me that this person is him. And as far as odd things happening before..." Roughly, she slammed her feet into the ground, violently stopping her swing, and then she took another calming breath, trying to rid herself of the shaking anger that was filling her. This wasn't Harry's fault. "My parents..." Another breath. "My parents' return has nothing to do with my nightmares. My _nightmares_ started long before my parents even met Tilinus. They are _completely_ unrelated." Her final statement was laced with a tone that told Harry she would brook no further discussion on the matter, so he let it drop.

"Do you think you are ready to go back? I know your mum will never forgive me if I don't say hi today." Harry jumped off his swing and looked to Hermione, waiting for her answer.

Hermione nodded begrudgingly and stood from the swing, letting go of the anger. Harry had done so much, had fought so many battles; it wasn't right for her to take her frustration out on him. "I'm sorry about that, Harry. This is just so confusing. I had hoped that our days of mystery were over."

"I know, love."

Suddenly, a puff of fluff whizzed by their heads.

"Ahh!" Harry exclaimed as he ducked and swatted away the overzealous Pigwidgeon.

In a ruffle of wings and feathers, the owl settled on a surprised Hermione's shoulder.

"I think it's for you," Harry said with a smirk.

Hermione, glad for the distraction, said wryly to the tiny owl - who was currently proudly preening itself on her shoulder, "Alright, you daft owl, give it here."

Sticking out its leg, Hermione carefully untied the missive and tucked it into her pocket. Then, plucking up the owl, she allowed him to launch himself up to the sky.

Harry chuckled as Hermione rolled her eyes. Pig really was a ridiculous little thing.

When the owl faded from sight, she reached into her pocket to retrieve the letter.

Unrolling the parchment, she stood silently and read, her eyes growing grimmer and her lips tighter with each pass over the words. When she reached the end, she unceremoniously thrust the letter at Harry, crushing it against his chest. Then she took off down the path, muttering to herself about daft pricks living in their own reality.

Harry carefully unrolled the crumpled letter, afraid of what he would see. It began:

_My Dearest Hermione…_


	6. Chapter 6

_**In Aster Stars: A Tale of Mystery and Magic**_

_**Chapter Six**_

_By Meladara_

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, and WB._

_I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

_A/N: I don't know how I managed to get this done. But I have it, so I might as well post it! Enjoy, dears! Let me know what you think. This is a bit of a slow moving tale, but I hope you are enjoying it. _

_~squishes~, Mel_

* * *

It was early evening when the kitchen door at the Burrow slammed, startling Ginny from her book. Harry stalked past Mrs Weasley, who was too busy cooking to even notice his passing, and into the sitting room. With a disgusted look on his face, he thrust a crumpled letter toward a surprised Ginny.

"Read it," he growled before walking away in frustration.

_My Dearest Hermione, _

_I can see now that I shouldn't have said those things in front of everyone. It was embarrassing for you, but you know, think of how embarrassing it was for me, too. I put myself out there and you just left me high and dry. _

_Anyhow, I'm going to do things properly now. _

_I want to take you on a date. A real date. We can go to a nice restaurant and even go to one of your Muggle moving picture things. A moovy - I think is what you called it. _

_The timing is perfect, we have just enough time before my interview with the Cannons next week. After that, hopefully I'll be at training camp. Of course, I will come visit you as often as I can. You know I don't care anything for the fan girls that flock after the teams. _

_You may not be a beautiful as some of them, but you are the one that I want, Hermione. _

_The kiss we shared was amazing. I want to show you how much you mean to me. _

_Just think! By next summer you will have finished school and I will be a famous Quidditch player. We'll have everything we truly ever wanted. I've already talked to my Mum about it, and she says that if we want we can have a garden wedding at the Burrow._

_Owl me to let me know when to pick you up._

_Ron_

"Bah...That idiot. Did he really think that this rubbish would win her heart?" Ginny scoffed to no-one in particular as she set out to find to where Harry had run off.

"Harry!" she called as she spied the figure darting to and fro in the sky. Watching him descend, she smoothed and then folded the letter, before placing it in her pocket. Making her way to an old bench that sat under the large birch tree in the garden, she waited for Harry.

"What do you think?" her boyfriend said unceremoniously, quickly jumping from his broom without missing a beat.

"I think he's daft, if you want to know the truth. She's seen it, I assume?" Ginny patted the space on the bench next to her.

"Um... Yes. It arrived late this afternoon, after our visit to Hogwarts," Harry answered as he slid into the spot she had indicated. Leaning against Ginny and enjoying the comfort he found in her presence, he continued. "She was already upset, but after this her sadness turned to anger. You know Hermione, give her something good to rant on and she'll run with it for a mile. And he certainly gave her quite a bit to rant over."

Ginny chuckled and nodded in agreement. If Ginny knew Hermione, she would do more than rant. It was the least that she would expect of her friend.

"We definitely need to talk to him and your mother before they see her again, or she is going to hex his bits off," Harry said, echoing Ginny's thought. "Does he really think that he is in love with her?" he asked before mumbling to himself, "He is a clueless idiot."

"You've seen him moping around; he is clueless and got his head in the clouds. Mum isn't much better. I thought it was because of Fred... I didn't realise that they had cooked up something this ridiculous. Obviously, he fancies himself in love, but it seems that he forgot to make sure the girl was on board."

"_One_ of us," the look Harry sent Ginny made it perfectly clear exactly that person was not him, "needs to talk to him about sending her letters like that. She doesn't need to deal with stuff like this right now."

Ginny sighed. "Alright, I will talk to him and Mum. But I want to know what is going on with Hermione. You've kept everything very tight-lipped since you visited her yesterday, and it is clear that you are worried about her. She is my friend, too, Harry, and if she needs help I want to be there for her. Do you plan on seeing her again soon?"

"Yeah. If it is alright with you, I want to keep taking her to and from Hogwarts while she is doing her research. I don't need to stay, but don't like the idea of her travelling alone. I want to make sure she is safe, and she isn't in any state to take care of herself. You don't mind do you?"

"I don't mind if she doesn't," Ginny said with a laughed. "Have you told her that you are acting as her personal body guard yet?

"Ha. Ha. Yes, I told her before I left today. She didn't seem to keen on the idea to start off with, but in the end, she conceded that it was for the best. She said she'd let me play hero body guard for awhile."

"You are a good friend, Harry." Ginny leaned over and placed a quick kiss on Harry's cheek. Then, marching off to find her brother, Ginny decided it was time to teach an imbecile a thing or two about tact.

* * *

Late afternoon sunlight streamed in through and spilled over the papers that were strewn across the table. Hermione rubbed her eyes and swept back the hair that had escaped from the hastily assembled bun that had appeared in her hair sometime mid-work. Thoroughly drained, she leaned back in the chair.

She was working in the Hogwarts library alone today. Harry had offered to help her again, but she had assured him that she could do this alone. She didn't want to let her demons haunt her anymore more than she had to, and in this, she could take some small measure of control. He had left her just inside Hogwarts gate that morning with a promise to pick her up in the early evening, and she had set about getting to work as quickly as possible.

It had been a second day of frustrating research, and Hermione was feeling defeated and more than a little bit sleepy. Something was going to have to be done about the nightmares soon, even if it meant taking dreamless sleep for a time. Her body could not keep functioning on so little sleep for much longer.

The majority of her day had been devoted to the book that Madam Pomfrey had given her, i_Hælan Magicks/i. _It was a thin, leather-bound text that was clearly hundreds of years old. Written in Middle English, the wording was so obscure that it had been necessary for her to cast a translation charm on the book to make any progress at all.

Navigating the book through the translation charm had made things especially difficult and kept her progress through the text at a snail's pace.

She had started by looking examining the book for any specific references to Muggles but had quickly come to realise that the term had not in use during the time period. So far she had only found a single reference to what she guessed was the time period equivalent, the i_Ungifted/i_ it had called them. However, that passage had been so obscure it hadn't made any sense to her. The translation simply said:

_iWhen in contact with those Ungifted, unless life or limb shall be put at risk, it is wisest not to administer to them until the Aster has arrived. For their mind will reject the presence of power until the Aster they have met. /i_

Now, after many more hours of research, it was the only piece of seemingly valuable information she had found, and it didn't amount to much. Following the reading of the passage, she had even checked several Herbology texts for the common magical usages of aster flowers, only to be left further disappointed. It had been a long shot, she had known. It was unlikely that asters could affect Muggles in any way. They were rarely used in potions, and when they were used, they did not carry any mind-altering affects. But facing yet another road block, she felt the stress of the situation again building within her.

Looking over her notes methodically for a time, Hermione looked for any possible pattern or information that she had missed. Then, when it became clear that she was wasting time, Hermione closed the still open Herbology texts and trust away the notes. Resolving to ask Professor Sprout when she returned for the year, she stacked the books for re-shelving and tidied her work space. The continuous lack of success was frustrating. But she was far too tired to harness the patience for the long and winding path of research right now.

Knowing that she had an hour before dinner, Hermione resolved to get up and get some stretch her legs. A walk through the castle might at least help clear her head, and if she stayed away from the more volatile areas – areas that had seen the most battle – then she stood a good chance of coming up with some idea of where to go from here. At the very least, after dinner she would be awake enough to slip back into the library for a while and look through the _Who's Who_ books for Tilinus. Not that she really believe she would have anymore success there than she'd already had at this point.

* * *

It was unaccountable why her feet had taken her here. Well, she knew why... It was this ever present need to understand her dreams of the former Potions Professor. As she sat in the chair and surveyed the room, she noted that it still smelled of him, despite his having been absent from it for over two years. He had been the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor during her sixth year, and during her year on the run, he'd been the acting Headmaster.

Hermione sighed and lay her head down on the tabletop before her, it was cold under her cheek, and for a moment the cool touch of the smooth surface caused her mind flared to life. Her eyes fixed on the desk – his desk. It stood at the front of the front of the room. Inhaling deeply through her nose, each of her senses sparked to life and the phantom form of Professor Snape stalking back and forth before his desk materialized within her mind.

Mesmerized, she sat in frozen fascination with head resting upon the cold tabletop as the Professor stalked before her, until her eyes slowly fluttered closed, and she drifted off to sleep.

Hermione never noticed the change, from awake to sleep. Still he marched before her, never changing or faltering, in front of the classroom. Only now...

._..his robe billowed with life and the sounds and smells of percolating cauldrons rose up around her, permeating the space. _

_Steam swirled before her, momentarily clouding her view of her tall Professor and causing her to look down, only to find herself sitting in her Hogwarts uniform and a cauldron bubbling before her. Peering over the edge, she found that the contents were deep blue and smelled of cedar and something else… It was a spicy yet creamy scent that brought to mind memories of wet autumn leaves and warm fires. _

_Picking up the stirring rod, Hermione dipped it into the mixture to test the thickness and texture. Gently lifting the rod from the liquid, she noted that it was coated the rod with a syrup-like mixture, which appeared to be almost clear. Wondering what this brew was, she looked up to search the classroom blackboard for clues. _

_As Hermione's eyes focussed on the spot where the blackboard should be, she felt the world around her fade, leaving behind only the workstation before her and the moving shadow of her Professor, who was currently moving somewhere just beyond her peripheral vision. Turning to look toward his, she found that he had once again moved out of her periphery. _

_When Hermione turned back to her workstation and bubbling cauldron, she noticed that a bowl of purple star-like blossoms was now sitting next to her cauldron. _

_'Asters,' Hermione thought. _

_Instinctively, her hand reached out and lifted a flower from the bowl. Then, after plucking all the petals from the flower, she grabbed the silver knife laying to her right and began to chop them into tiny pieces. _

_With peace and fluidity she worked, concentrating entirely on making the exacting movements which would result in perfectly processed ingredients. _

_As the shadow, which had until now stayed just out of view, fell across her table, Hermione's hand faltered and then froze. _

_Standing still, she watched as the shadow that represented her Potions Master moved across the table. The scent of potions ingredients and the warmth and energy of his standing so close behind her seems to swirl around her in an almost palpable manner. Then, just when she felt that she could stay still no longer, the shadow stopped, and she felt the gentle brush of something as soft as silk across her neck._

_Hermione gasped. He was looking over her shoulder, into her cauldron._

_"It is still soft," she said in whisper. "Your hair." The words falling from her lips involuntarily. _

_His head bobbed as he gave a small nod, and then the warmth of his body pressing against her back increased as he leaned in and covered her still frozen, knife wielding hand, with his own hand. As his fingers rested upon hers, she felt his other hand grip in a light grasp at her waist, steadying and uniting them as a single working unit. She couldn't help but stiffen in shock. Part of her was waiting for him to indicate what she was supposed to do, while the other part was simply surprised in general. _

_Slowly, his fingers wrapped around hers, pressing and squeezing at her hand, causing tiny pricks of nervousness to erupt all over her body. _

_With a barely perceptible move, he beckoned for her to begin chopping again, his hair brushing on her cheek, his hand burning against her flesh, he warmth and scent driving away her ability to form coherent thought._

_Up and down the knife moved in the twinned hands, as he guided her movements into a refined surgical precision. _

_Breathing in through her nose, her eyes stayed fixed on their work. Watching and concentrating as best she could, the once purple petals were macerated into thousands of pieces, each about one half millimeter square. _

_As the knife stilled, his hand pulled away from hers and settled at her wrist, his long fingers stretching forward into the back of her hand, caressing and then pressing. As he guided her hand and the knife onto their side so that they were parallel with the table, he lifted her hand from the table and moved it away from their work space. As the knife touched the table, Hermione allowed it to slip from her grasp. His gentle, guiding movement held her completely mesmerised. _

_As her hands were freed, though not his grasp, her mind was drawn to the shadow of the man who was still enfolding her._

_ Allowing herself to relax, her back pressed against his chest, and she could feel the tickle of his hair on her neck once again. The hand on her tightened it's hold sharply in response to her relaxation, stilling any further movement. _

_Hermione's racing heart pounding in her chest as her face grew warm with embarrassment. _

_They stood, frozen, as seconds ticked past, as if neither of them where sure what was happening or where they should go from here._

_As the warmth of his breath rolled down her cheek and slipped down into the neck of her blouse, Hermione's tongue darted out and wet her lips in an unconscious movement. Goose flesh erupted over her body, and she shivered, unsure of what to do. _

_After a moment, his hand, which was still encircling her wrist, began to move up her sensitive arm. Dragging the tip of his fingers along her skin, she trembled beneath him. His fingers stopped at her shoulder, clasping it softly. _

_His head turned toward her. Eyes fluttering closed, she felt the brush of his nose against her check and a warm puff of breath in her ear. Surrendering utterly to his control, she felt the hand on her shoulder press her forward and to the left, while the hand on her waist pulled back simultaneously. _

_Hermione felt him step back, to account for her movement. Heat from his body faded, and she found she lamented the loss of contact. _

_Eyes still closed, her entire awareness was composed of those two points of contact, pressing and pulling against her. Spinning her around. _

_She turned with aching slowness, and then before she understood what was happening she found herself pulled into a second turn. _

_And another…_

* * *

_A/N: Bwaaahaha! Don't hate me! ;) _


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